


It Feels Right

by redleaders



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Dom!Din, F/M, I am going to hell, I don't have a plan, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Porn With Plot, Smut, The Force Ships It, i feel wrong for posting this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29404194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redleaders/pseuds/redleaders
Summary: You're given no instructions, simply to go to a random planet and wait for them to come to you. Being a Jedi was never easy, but it has also never been this difficult.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60





	1. It Feels Right

**It wakes you from your sleep.  
**

Something deep and luminous. It burns at the fringes of your mind, tinting your awareness in a golden hue reminiscent of a sun just after it rises. The webs are tiny and fragile as they weave toward you, silky soft to the touch, encapsulating your mind in the glorious comfort of knowing you weren’t alone.

You weren’t alone.

This feeling, new as it may be, is familiar to you. It tells you to look, begs you to run. It calls to you, singing your name in a thousand languages you can’t speak, but somehow seem to understand.

So this is what Master Luke was talking about, you think. This is why he sent you away.

He had been very vague, in usual Luke fashion. After the completion of your trials, it had barely been more than a day before you received your first mission.

The timing was poor. You knew Master Luke’s nephew was arriving at the temple, and the whispers on the state of young Solo’s mind were nothing if not concerning. Your deep and thorough knowledge of the Force allowed you to become aware of the dark forces that brewed, deep in the recesses of the galaxy. Your Master needs you. You know this. Every feeling in your bones screams it. 

But even still, he packed up your X-Wing and sent you away. To Felucia, of all places. It is beautiful, to be sure. Large and colorful fungi and flora grow tall from its damp earth, and at night, it all takes on a bioluminescence that lights up the entire planet. But it is hidden. Well hidden. Whoever is coming, Luke spoke only of a child, you have no idea how they are going to find you.

You have been waiting a long time. Weeks, months, the days started to blend. But every night, you feel that presence touch your soul. You know it is the one — the child, but from it you gain nothing but the burn of its light. No information, no clue when it’s coming, how close it is. Nothing.

And so, you devote yourself to the Force while you wait. Trying to understand why Master Luke sent you away to care for a child, why you have to be the one to protect it, why it can’t just come to his temple.

This night is no different. You lay upon a palm leaf that is almost as large as your X-Wing. Light mist swirls, making its way slowly down from the thick fringe of rainforest overhead, coating your hair and skin. You sink into the peace of the moment, allowing the Force to comfort and soothe your curiosity.

You feel the familiar weight of your saber against your thigh, although it feels rather useless here. You had sensed the presence of some rancor a large distance away, but they never venture into your sector. At least, they hadn’t yet.

No, you are alone, save the small insects that buzz through the luminescent flower fields.

Night is falling fast. You know you should be travelling back to your camp, setting up for the night. But you allow yourself to linger in this moment. It is a beautiful night. The heavy wetness of the atmosphere makes the air look like it’s sprinkled with thousands of tiny diamonds, reflecting light from the forest back onto itself.

Sleep creeps to you. You feel yourself drifting… Deeper and deeper.

BANG!

The sound of a ship entering the atmosphere startles you. You feel your heart slam up to your throat, thundering helplessly against your jugular. You claw desperately for the Force, to help calm your completely shattered nervous system, but also to help you figure out who in the kriff just entered this planet’s atmosphere.

You leap to the ground, landing gracefully on two feet. The figure of the approaching vessel evades your eyes, the thick fringe of trees to blame, no doubt. But after a moment of silent anticipation, the blissfully still tree line is broken, and a ship descends on you. Fast.

You pull on distant tendrils of the Force to get yourself out of the way, landing in a less than graceful fashion against a slab of moss-riddled wood. Eyes wide, you watch the ship descend to land. Slowly, quietly. It is unquestionably an old reinforced TIE, but something tells you there are no Imperials inside.

The Force signature that emanates from the vessel is loud and heavy. It wrings out your spine, invades your space. You are certain it is the one — the child.

But, there is something else too. The child hadn’t come alone.

Your lightsaber ignites the second you sense the presence, the glow of it casting menacing shadows across your face. Your stance is defensive, poised, relaxes — just like your Master taught you. But inside, you are scrambled.

Although you successfully completed your trials, this is all new to you. And your Master isn’t here to help if things get ugly

Alone.

Well, not technically anymore.

The entrance side of the repurposed TIE opens slowly, emanating a weak hiss and a bit of steam. The sound of soft groans and winces hints that whoever is exiting is hurt.

Unwilling to fall for the potential trap, you sink lower into your stance, extending your lightsaber further and further, trying to reach the shadows of the TIE with the looming beam. Closer… Closer.

Then, you see it.

Metal. Lots of metal.

What is surely the figure of a man steps toward you.

His gleaming armor reflects the light of your still ignited saber. He is covered from head to toe in it. From his feet all the way up to his head. You probe at him with your feelings, trying to decipher if he means to be hostile with you, or if he would hand over the child willingly.

But truthfully, it is neither. All you feel is his strong and unyielding urge to protect. To save. To keep close.

Your brows raise softly.

That is all you can get from him. The rest remained heavily guarded behind his shiny metal helmet.

Then, it clicked.

“Mandalorian…” you whisper. You search your mind, combing through the near decade of lessons you had with Luke.

“ _Mandalorians are much like us,_ ” he had said, “ _more savage, perhaps. But fiercely protective of their own. That is a Jedi trait._ ”

Your fixation on the enigma before you leads you to entirely forget the much more important reason why you were here. Eyes darting around him, looking carefully, you knit your brows in confusion.

“Where is the child?”

You can almost see the expression of surprise flicker across his unmoving helmet.

He says nothing.

“I know he is here, I can feel him.”

Almost as if he suddenly remembers where he is, he lays his hand over a strange looking object on his hip.

“How do you know about him?”

His voice was low and controlled. Soft, even. Calculated. Dark enough to raise goosebumps on your skin.

“Are you a Jedi?”

You raise your eyebrows, and assess his comment like he’s crazy. Glancing from your ignited saber back to him, you nod slowly.

“Hence the lightsaber.”

He nods slowly, relaxing his hand.

“Do you know Ahsoka Tano?” The name triggers no semblance of recognition.

“No, where is he?”

“You don’t?” he asks, a true vein of surprise in his tone.

“Should I?”

He takes what feels like an eternity to answer.

“She sent us to you.”

You feel yourself prickle at that. It is becoming glaringly obvious just how much Master Luke was withholding from you.

“I have no idea, but I do know that I was sent here for him.”

Again, that maddening, deafening silence.

“Look, I’m not going to hurt you, or the kid. Can you please just bring him out? Our Force signatures communicate a lot better when we’re face to face.”

It’s agonizing how slowly he decides to move. Limb to limb, he walks around the back of the TIE with the fluidity of a bantha. It flares frustration inside of you, a feeling you’ve gotten all too good at neutralizing. But something about his presence causes it to surmount. It twists at your insides. Knots your stomach. Makes you feel… weird.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he comes out from behind the TIE holding a tiny brown sack in his hands. But on further inspection, you can see that it’s not just a pile of burlap. From the center of it protrudes a tiny green face. Big black eyes the size of tiny saucers glance at you curiously. The thing’s gigantic green ears wiggle pervasively, disturbing the tiny grey hairs that dust his head.

The first thing you do is laugh.

It’s breathy and light, but you halt it immediately at the sight of your Mandalorian friends tensing up protectively around the child.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your heart clenching as you take notice of how small his nose is. “He’s… not what I was expecting.”

“He never is.”

The fondness with which he speaks takes you by surprise. This is an interesting development.

Gently, you probe your feelings out toward the little green monster. The first of many things that surprises you is how intelligent he is. He recognizes your Force signature almost immediately, passing you everything he knows. His name, Grogu. His age, fifty, you don’t let that bother you as much as it should. His life. Where he’s been. All that he can remember.

The last thing he gives you is an image of the Mandalorian before you. He presses that, as if he’s trying to communicate something.

Family.

You push back, asking, how?

Then, the child shows you everything.

Violence. Blood. Fear. Uncertainty. Passing through each day being blissfully innocent, yet knowing danger was everywhere. Screaming. Loss. War.

And at the center of it all, this Mandalorian. Always there to save the kid. To hold him when he was afraid. To make sure he had whatever he needed.

Your heart flares.

You had never known that feeling. Like the kid, you too are an orphan. Abandoned somewhere on Chandrila, working as a slave laborer for the Empire in the Kyber Mines. It wasn’t until Luke found you that you found some semblance of belonging, and even then, it was difficult. You were one of his three original students. You trained vigorously, and hard, but the other two were so much younger than you that it was hard to relate. And Master Luke’s attention was always on something far away. You had found a new home at the temple on Lothal. But you had never belonged.

This kid, Grogu, knew exactly where he belonged. Who he belonged to.

You press your lips together firmly, the realization that you are jealous of a small womp rat dawning on you.

“Did I miss something?”

The sound of the Mandalorian’s voice through the modulator kicks you from your communication. You realize then that it must have been several minutes since the last time you spoke. And he probably had no idea what was going on.

“Sorry,” you offer curtly, disengaging your lightsaber. “Grogu and I were just… talking.”

The fact that he says nothing to that vague and uninventive explanation leads you to believe that he kind of understands.

“What did he say?”

His voice is genuinely curious, and you pity him for the fact that they really had no way to communicate.

“He’s very fond of you. He thinks you’re going to leave him.”

“Leave him?” He sounds totally offended. You raise an eyebrow at him. “I’m not gonna leave him. But you’re gonna take him.”

“What?”

Now, you’re confused.

“Ahsoka Tano told me to find you and give Grogu to you. That you were going to take him to your… Jedi place. A place I can’t follow.”

You decide that you need to meet this Ahsoka Tano. But more importantly, you need to smooth over the very obvious miscommunication.

“I’m staying here,” you murmur softly. “I’ve graduated my trials, I don’t belong at Master Luke’s temple anymore. He sent me here to take Grogu as my padawan. There was very little explanation but he doesn’t want him trained at Lothal.”

“Oh.”

The silence is thick. Heavy. The sound of whirring and chirping brought on by the glow of the night breaks it up a bit, as does the cooing of the child in Mando’s arms. But still. You feel awkward. This doesn’t seem like a bond you can just insert yourself into.

“So… Are you going to stay? Or are you leaving? It’s your choice. But Grogu has to stay with me.”

He looks at you for a moment. Now, you are sure he is looking. The darkness of the t-visor bores into your soul. He isn’t just looking — he’s perceiving.

You squirm under his gaze.

“Wherever he goes, I go.”

Well, that settles it then.

———

A couple of hours later, you had led them back to your camp, made up a small bed for the little green bean, and began cooking what remained of your earlier hunting trip — manta and balmgrass. The child slept like he had never known sleep before, snoring lightly in his tiny bundle of blankets.

Against your better judgement, you had made yourself comfortable for the night. The outer layers of your Jedi tunic that Master Luke had given you as a graduation present had been shed. Now, in the sticky warmth of the humid night, you don only the tan under wrappings that flow about your body loosely.

Even as Mando watched you, unnervingly closely, as you got ready for bed, he remained stationed by the child’s side on the ground. He didn’t remove any of his weaponry, he didn’t even take off any of the several layers of clothes he had on.

He has to be boiling.

Although Felucian nights are much more temperate than Felucian days, the humidity still makes the innate warmth of the planet inescapable.

You eye him with concern as sweat beads at your own brow. If you are hot, you can only imagine how he feels.

“You can take off some of that beskar,” you murmur gently, trying not to awake the sleeping baby with your voice. “I promise I won’t hurt you. It’s not the Jedi way.”

He turns to face you slowly, crossing his arms over the vast expanse of his chest.

“I don’t take it off.”

“Ever?”

“No.”

You raise your brows, trying not to wince in sympathy at how stuffy he must feel.

“We’re not vulnerable here. There aren’t any dangerous life forms within one hundred clicks on either side.”

He says nothing, so you assume that did nothing to make him feel better.

You almost decide to give up, before you hear him huff a soft breath from beneath his helmet.

“It’s Mandalorian custom. We must always be prepared. That is the way.”

His voice is so soft, what he says is almost drowned out by the various sounds of the night.

“I have customs too,” you say honestly. “Sometimes I take the liberty to break them. If it’s what feels right.”

Another bout of silence, and you just can’t seem to let it go.

“Not even your helmet?”

“Especially not my helmet.”

You want so badly to press him further, but the dominance of his voice shows that he is done with it. You realize as you shiver against the sweltering heat of the night that it’s not the temperature that makes you shiver.

It’s him.

He makes you nervous.

You shake your head, and turn your attention back to the fire.

No more, you think. This mission isn’t about him. It’s about the kid. And somehow, the kid hasn’t been the one dominating your thoughts.

I’m here for the kid.

His soft voice interrupts your flagellation.

“Mandalorians never show our faces.”

You nod, determined against engaging further.

“We’re a dying breed. Our secrecy is our survival. You understand that.”

Unfortunately, you understand all too well.

Your lightsaber and religion are your most precious secrets. You had vowed to protect that secret with your life.

After all, what choice did you have? You were one of a handful of jedi left.

You know exactly how he feels.

But that doesn’t keep you from wanting to see his face.

You don’t understand this kind of familiarity that swells up inside of you. It is dangerous. Unnerving. Passionate. All things Master Luke taught you to constantly put down. But then again, that is what had saved him and redeemed Anakin Skywalker.

Confused. You are confused. Only by the product of being understood and perceived by another living soul.

And you cannot allow this confusion to go on any longer.

You needed sleep.

Yes. Sleep.

“I’m going to bed,” you announce abruptly, rising to stand fast enough to make stars dance in your vision. “The food’s almost done. Take whatever you’d like.”

Your eyes burn on the way to your made up bed. How is it possible that he made you cry?

He hadn’t even said anything mean.

———

_Dark clouds rolled overhead. The edges of your vision are tinted in red, you squint harder, trying to see through the fog._

_But it’s choking you. You can’t breathe._

_Your throat constricts, and tears spring into your eyes. No matter how hard you claw at your throat, no air gets in. Your fingers squeeze at your skin, trying to remove the chokehold._

_But you feel nothing._

_Nothing except your own throat._

_You flail. Glance around yourself with bloodshot and bulging eyes. But you see nothing. Already. Your eyes are falling victim to the lack of oxygen in your throat._

_You’re going to die._

_The realization dawns on you as you reach for your saber, only to see it broken on the ground beside you._

_Now, you feel the ground beneath you. It’s hot. Everything’s hot._

_Blood dribbles down your neck, leaking out of your ears and eyes._

_A face comes to mind._ Just one. You don’t recognize it.

_You feel your life force fading. There isn’t much time. Not even enough for you to mourn, to fight back._

_The last thing you see is a dark, void, flimmering saber. It flies overhead._

_A beskar covered hand catches it._

You awake with a start, the sound of air whistling all the way down your hollow lungs. You choke on your breath, tears coating your taste buds in salt.

The first thing you take note of is that you’re alive. You feel your heart hammer beneath your sweat soaked chest. You are also breathing. The air creates a sweet taste in your mouth.

Your hands scramble to find your saber, to defend yourself from the evil that stole your breath from you.

But you don’t find it. Your hands meet skin. It’s not your own.

You panic. At this point, you don’t have a coherent thought to hold onto. All you know is that you are disarmed and in danger.

You cry out in fear, pushing back against the mass of skin uselessly, until your surroundings slowly become more available to your adrenaline riddled mind. Someone is talking to you. A soft, quiet, and urgent voice. And although you can’t see, whoever it is has their hands on your face.

“Hey, hey. You’re alright. Come back. It was just a dream.”

A solid weight on top of you brings you back to reality. The world around you is quiet and dark, except for the sounds of breathing.

Felucia. You’re on Felucia. It’s dark in the early hours of the morning there. The bioluminescence of the forest fades around four, and there is no moon.

That explains why you feel so robbed of your senses. What it did not explain is what was holding to your face and whispering to you.

You feel thighs on either side of your waist, strong hands cupping either side of your tear stained cheeks. Whatever it is, it was heavy and strong. But it’s careful to keep the weight from crushing you. 

A ghost of a breath brushes across your face. Again, that voice whispers your name.

That voice…

“Mando?”

A sigh of relief is let out in the space above you, and you feel him sit back a bit on your thighs.

“You scared me, _jetii_.”

His hands leave your face, and you replace them with your own, rubbing feverishly at your eyes as your tears continue to flow.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. “I had a nightmare. That doesn’t usually happen to me.”

He doesn’t say anything. He sits on top of you like that as you shrivel up under the weight of your horrifying dream. None of your dreams had ever felt that real. Your throat is raw and sore. As if you truly had been choking. As if…

You’re about to descend into another round of sobs, when you feel large, calloused hands flatten themselves against either side of your exposed belly. A sharp breath plummets down your abused windpipe, and your sobs freeze in your throat.

Slowly, he begins to massage the muscles just above your hips.

His hands are warm. Broad. Rough. Enough to draw your attention away from how terrified you were only moments ago.

No one had ever touched you like this.

You’re tensing again, not because you’re scared or because you don’t want it. But because it’s so new.

“Relax, _jetii_ ,” he sighs from above you. “It wasn’t real.”

But what is happening right now is very real. And it is becoming realer. Especially the fact that you feel his skin all over you. And that his voice isn’t being distorted by a modulator.

“Your armor’s off,” you observe stupidly. “And your helmet.”

His hands don’t halt their ministrations at your words. If anything, he works you deeper. Your muscles uncoil and melt at his touch.

“You broke your custom…” Your voice is little more than a ragged whisper.

“It felt right.”

A small smile breaks through your tear stained countenance. Something about him using your own words against you makes knots unfurl in your stomach.

“But what if I see you? Accidentally?”

A groan escapes your lips as his hands travel slowly up your abdomen, beginning to work on your ribcage in the same way he worked on your sides. 

He’s quiet for a moment, and a part of you truly believes he’s going to see the logic behind your concern and get up and leave. But instead, you feel his weight shifting over you. Slowly. Measured.

Then, his breath dances across your cheeks.

“Can you see me?”

You shake your head, no. The static between your lips and his own is almost painful, taunting your Force signature with how close it is.

You allow yourself to reach out to him with your feelings. Just for a moment. Just to know what you were supposed to do.

It takes a moment, but slowly, his aura in the Force seeps into your consciousness. He pulsates, low and dark. Slow. Sure. The tendrils of his soul fish their way through the complicated patchwork of your own. It scares you, but you let him in a bit deeper. Just so you understand. And then…

He wants you.

He wants this exact moment, right now. He doesn’t care that you just met. He’s concerned about you and your dream, and he wants you.

You withdraw instantly. Like a rubber band being stretched and released.

But it’s too late. Warmth pools in your lower belly, and you press your legs together.

You may never have experienced this with someone. But you know what it is.

Slowly, his hands ghost up your ribs. In between your chest, up the hollow of your throat, up and up until one hand plants itself next to your ear and the other grips your jaw gently.

“Have you ever been kissed before?”

Your heart plummets.

“No,” you whisper. “I… The Jedi don’t form romantic attachments. It’s… against our code.”

“Hmm…” He ponders, his thumb drawing lines from your chin to the middle of your throat.

“The unbreakable kind of custom?” he asks, his words bringing his lips so close to your own. “Or the kind you can break — if it feels right.”

You know what you should say. Master Luke had drilled this into you since you were young. Passion leads to attachment. Attachment leads to love. Love leads to fear. Fear leads to the dark side.

But the Force seems to scream at you. When you reach out with your feelings, as your Master had taught you to do, they point right back at you. As if to say, you know. You have always known.

You want this. You had wanted this since you saw him. You want to be felt and experienced.

  
And he wants to experience you. 

One of the first lessons a Jedi is taught is their own insignificance. They are taught not to matter. The only thing that matters is what they can do to help anyone but themselves. How they can act on behalf of the Force, and execute that post faithfully.

Always on offense.

And while that selflessness is a trait you admire about yourself, you can’t quell that part of you that wants to matter to someone. Even if just for a moment.

And so, you answer him.

  
Simply.

Resolutely.

“It feels right.”

You think you can hear him smile. And then, his lips are on yours.

Your Force energy blasts out from inside of you, gripping him with every fiber it has. His lips are unmistakably soft, and send butterflies straight down your vagus nerve. They open ever so slightly…

Your hands press themselves uselessly to his slightly damp biceps. You try to envision in your head what they look like, just based on the way that they feel, but you hardly have enough brain power left over for that.

Because now, his tongue is in between your lips. Hot and wet, forcing your mouth into submission in the most obscene way. The force moves in you at this new sensation, pushing so hard against your physical boundaries that you feel like you might explode. It’s almost too much to take. You squirm underneath him, but the movement brushes against your core in a way that blinds you for a moment.

You break away from him for a second, pushing your head into the soft earth below you. Black spots dance in your eyes as the Force pulsates hungrily inside of you. More, it says. Now.

You push your hands against his shoulders, and a sound you didn’t know you could make comes from your mouth.

“You’re sensitive, _jetii_ , aren’t you?” His voice, low and rumbling skims across the underside of your jaw as he takes his mouth there instead of his hands.

“I-it’s the F-Force…” You barely manage to wheeze it out as his mouth latches onto your pulse point. “It’s m-m-messing with me.:

He hums against your throat, and you swear that you can feel the vibrations run all the way down to your feet. His mouth is sucking so hard against your carotid on your neck that you feel your skin begin to sting, but it does nothing to sate the aching need that burns hotly inside of you. You have no idea what to do. Literally none. You are helpless, like soft clay, retaining no shape and without a constitution. And he is molding you like it’s his day job.

But you love that. You love the way he’s marking you. Possessively. Savagely. All these years, you had to be in total control. Of yourself, the Force. But now, it is his. And you had willingly given it to him.

And what a relief it was.

His lips let off your skin with a gentle pop, and what sounds like a growl tumbles low in his throat.

“Alright, little one,” he murmurs from somewhere in the darkness. He presses featherlight kisses to the corner of your lips, and wraps his hand protectively around your throat. “I’m gonna need you to relax. And if you want me to stop, use that pretty mouth of yours and tell me.”

His words alone are almost enough to make you come undone, but as you feel his hands creep down your chest, you really think this might be it. The friction of his fingers tugging the fabric of your wrappings down over your breasts is overwhelming. The wet and heavy air coats them in a slick layer of moisture, granting his hands permission to glide over your virgin skin with ease. 

His fingers seem to travel everywhere but the sensitive buds atop your breasts, brushing and trailing soft lines with his fingernails. You writhe beneath him. You want something — need something that hurts. Just to distract your mind from the mountainous wave that is threatening to overtake you. But the more you move, the firmer he grips you.

It’s too much. Too fast.

“What is it?” he asks roughly, as if you had interrupted him from something important.

“I-I don’t know,” you whine, chest straining against him.

The sound of a laugh, one single laugh, echoes through your ears. Your lips pull into a frown.

“That’s not nice.”

“I’ve just never been with… How do you say it, a ‘Force-sensitive?’” You nod in affirmation. “You’re very… receptive,” he murmurs. “It’s driving me crazy.”

He squeezes the soft flesh of your breasts pointedly after he speaks. A raspy squeal escapes your mouth, but he swallows it with his lips.

“Shh…” he urges into your mouth. “I’ll decide what you need.”

And then, his mouth latches onto you.

Your eyes roll back into your head. His lips are warm and needy against your nipple. Not wanting anyone to feel left out, his thumb and pointer finger roll the other peak between themselves. 

Your skin feels like it’s on fire, like there is no matter at all to make you up. It is reminiscent of the soul transcendence you performed in your trials. When you literally had to leave your physical form behind, and experience the world as a piece of itself.

That’s what this was to you. An experience of the cosmos. In flashing shades of teals, pinks, and others. 

His lips suck deep bruises against the underside of your breasts. It hurts. It hurts exactly the way you want it to. But it draws your attention between your legs, where his knee is pressed tautly. You move your hips tentatively, slowly, dragging up the surface of his knee at a deliciously slow pace. But as soon as you do it, you wish you didn’t.

White hot pleasure bursts from your core, and you could do nothing to stop the moan that leaks slow and languid from your mouth.

That. You want that. You need it. Now.

You have no clue how this was supposed to go. All you can do is trust the Force as it guides you. And it wants one thing.

You can’t speak. Every word catches in your throat. So, you do all you know how to do. You show him.

As you project at him, he freezes, chin coming to rest in the valley between your breasts.

You do everything you can to communicate it to him. You want him to understand like your life depends on it. And it might as well depend on it. You have never been this worked up in your entire life.

While you focus on your incoherent communication, he presses a featherlight kiss to the hollow of your throat, and then your lips.

“Is that what you want, _jetii_?”

You feel his hand trail down the center of your stomach, leaving chills and goosebumps in its wake. He continues down until his palm rests atop the bone of your most private area.

Your hips buck.

“Yeah? This is what you need?”

A whine spills out from between your gritted teeth.

“Use your words, little one. If we’re going to keep doing this, you’ll have to learn to talk through it. I hate silence.”

Okay. You can do this. 

After sucking in a deep breath, you bring your hand to rest over his own.

“I want you to touch me.”

“Where?” he presses.

You push his hand lower, until it covers the radiating heat of your obscenely wet pussy.

“H-here. Please.”

“Good girl.”

His words of praise fill you with an absurd sense of pride. But you don’t have long to think on it. Because fingers are working at the tie of your pants. And this is all suddenly becoming very real.

In a moment of unfounded panic, you seize his wrist before he can dip it into your curls. In the darkness, you feel his free hand come up to cup the underside of your jaw again.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, “It’s okay. I… I know this is all new.”

You hold onto his hand for dear life. It suddenly occurs to you that he has no idea how big of a deal this was for you. For a Jedi.

“I’m just… breaking a big rule. I think it means more to me than you want it to,” you admit hesitantly, feeling the shame of your honesty. 

His hand withdraws from the hem of your leggings, and comes to rest on the other side of your face.

“We can stop, _jetii_ ,” he says in his soft voice. “Is that what you want?”

No. You could answer that in a heartbeat. Your instincts are impeccable. Fine tuned and trained alongside the deepest current in the universe. And they are telling you that this is supposed to happen. That it’s meant to happen.

But still, you are scared.

So, you come to a compromise.

“No,” you say, pulling his lips down to your own in a surprising act of courage. “I just can’t do it all. Not tonight.”

He kisses you back, understanding and respect in that one, simple gesture.

“ _Meg vurel gor copikla,_ ” he whispers into the night air, “ _ni cuy’ gotal at dinuir._ ”

That was the first time you have ever heard Mando’a be spoken. It is beautiful. And hot. And it makes you shove his hand down toward your pants with no regard.

“What does that mean?” you ask breathlessly.

“Ask me tomorrow.”

His hand wedges itself beneath your leggings.

You can feel how unbelievably wet you are, just by the way his fingers glide effortlessly down the length of your center. The nerve endings there light a fire trail behind his touch, and the Force rushes from all around you to concentrate on the viciously sensitive bud on top. Your throat closes and our fingernails dig into his shoulders.

Fuck.

“You are soaking, _jetii_ ,” he says hotly.

His fingers collect your leaking sex, dragging from the lowest end to the very top. A poignant whimper leaves your lips, and he takes that opportunity to dip his glistening finger into your open mouth.

“Suck,” he orders.

You are helpless, you obey.

You close your mouth around his finger, tasting the damp evidence of your arousal for him. The taste of your own slickness is enough to send you into a spiral, and you whine into his hand. He works his finger slowly in and out of your mouth. The edges of your teeth graze the top of his finger, and it makes him growl.

Too quickly for you to perceive what is happening, not that your mind in this heavy state of coitus could process much anyways, he removes his finger from your mouth and rotates you in a fluid motion so your back is resting against his bare, heaving chest.

He slides his hands down your shoulders, bringing them to grip the insides of your thighs. There’s a beat of silence where you can hear your heart suspend so suddenly that your ears begin to ring, and then he wrenches your thighs apart.

You wriggle your ass back against him, hoping to take some of the attention away from your pitifully needy folds. But all it does is elicit a groan from him. A hand flies up to grip your throat, and tilts your head back.

“None of that, little one. Tonight is about you. For you.”

Your whimper is drowned out by the squelching sound your weeping cunt makes as his fingers glide over it once more, and this time, he’s not so nice about it. He rubs at your clit viciously, leaving no room at all for you to move as his other hand grips your throat. You feel the soft waves of his hair tickle your cheeks as you rest the back of your head on his shoulder. Inexplicably erotic sounds leave your mouth as he rubs your hooded sex faster, faster, uintil you are practically screaming in agonized euphoria.

It’s as if he knows exactly what to do to get you there. His lips latch onto a sensitive bruise on your neck, and you come undone. Earth shattering waves of milky ecstasy pulsate behind your eyes. In shades of every kind, white hot and absolutely world ending, you come on his hand like it’s the last time you ever will. It takes every bit of control you have to keep your Force signature from lashing out, lest you wake up the sleeping baby 100 yards away. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Because he is milking every last drop from you. 

By the time the last wave has left your body, and the familiar hum of the Force re enters your conscious mind, you slump back against him. He guides you both down until you are lying against his sturdy chest.

You bury your face into him. 

That was the first time you came.

Ever.

And something tells you that he knows that. Maybe that’s why his knuckles slowly run along the bare expanse of your back, soothing you as the aftershocks of your orgasm riddle your body. He holds you tightly. And you do your best not to linger in the implications of this moment. Who knew what this would mean tomorrow. He might leave, he might stay. Right now, you were too tired to make any conjectures.

In the haze of your oncoming slumber, you find yourself admitting yet another embarrassing truth.

“I don’t like sleeping alone.”

You feel a subtle rise of his chest, denoting a sigh. He presses you closer to his chest.

“Me neither.”


	2. Say My Name

You wake up, and you are alone.

The warmth of the Felucian sun, cascading like honey through the high treeline warms your exposed arms, soaking through your skin and eyes in a way that whispers; _Wake up. The day is beginning._ You feel calm, at peace. The Force moves inside of you, outside of you, all around you in such a pleasant and languid manner that you can hardly bring yourself to disrupt it at all. It caresses you, touches your cheek, smiles against the dense breeze.

But then, something changes.

You take note of everything around you. The mantas and highbirds chirp softly, their Life Forces humming a vibrant and steady shade of gold and green. You feel the child, Grogu, you know he is near. The sound of his tiny snores permeate the stillness of the warm morning, and his youthful and innocent signature rests beside your own, as if taking comfort and shelter behind it. But beyond those things, there is nothing else. And it takes a moment for you to understand that something is missing, Something is missing…

You shoot up in your place, hair falling around you in a sticky and damp mess. Your eyes dart around the campsite, taking inventory. Grogu is wrapped up in a bundle of blankets about a hundred yards away, beside the remnants of last night’s fire and discarded food. Your X-Wing paints a lovely backdrop behind the hanging vines and damp earth, sitting just behind the child. There is a mat beside the child, a neatly folded blanket on top of it.

  
It’s empty.

And now, you realize why. 

He’s not here.

You don’t spend time deconstructing your logic or motive as you jump up from your makeshift bed. You simply do what your muscles instruct, heart pulling the strings. As you pull on the loose wrappings of your tunic over your undershirt, a sharp pang of embarrassment fills your stomach. And then, guilt. And then, _dread._

The memories of last night come to you in waves as you walk through the Felucian jungle, treading over the path you took to get from the TIE he arrived on to your camp. You can’t believe it. _You can’t believe it._

The harder your heart beats, the quicker you walk. Until you are running. Frantically. Pushing aside leaves and vines, feeling them drag tiny slices all over your face and hands.

But none of it matters. 

You get to the clearing, and his ship is gone.

A breath exits your mouth. One breath. And you fall to the ground.

The impact on your bones rings some remembrance of your own place into the galaxy back to your head. The pulses of the Force moving against your own anxiety ripple against your brain with such intensity that your ears begin to ring, and the world before you swims in lackadaisical and unnerving circles. Somewhere beneath your chest, your heart clenches so hard that you are sure it will cease to beat all together. And there is a moment where you feel like everything is hanging, suspended in air, waiting for some kind of sign or final blow to tip the scale.

Then, every emotion invades your sensory process.

Guilt overwhelms you so wholly that you feel unable to breathe. You had messed up. You had messed up so badly that you felt like you might break under the sheer weight of it.

You had allowed someone to touch you. To experience the body that belonged to you, that you had given over to the Force. You had done it with no hesitation, no ounce of thought or resistance. You had _wanted_ it. You had wanted him.

And he was gone. Just like you knew he would be. And you had broken your promise.

Your hands press firmly to the sides of your brain, trying to ease the logical side of your thinking back into the conversation. Rationally, you know this was a forgivable offence. You know Master Luke’s opinion would not change if he knew. You know you are still a deserving, and capable Jedi. But that does nothing to abate the pain that wracks through you so wholly.

No. There is more than your oath on your mind.

It was _him_ , you realize. Him. He was so unlike anything you had ever experienced. So quiet, and still. So sure. So demanding and brooding and dominant and sure. He knew exactly who he was even if he didn’t know where he came from. This imperturbable statue of a man that you knew nothing about had caused such a clash inside of your soul, it was as if the Force continuously pulled your consciousness back to him, anytime your mind wandered. From the second you laid eyes on him, something clicked into place. That feeling terrified you. It terrified you most because your heart told you he didn’t feel it like you did.

He had just used you. Not knowing how much that act meant to your Creed. To your life.

He was gone. 

A seething groan escapes your teeth. You couldn’t allow this to happen. You had a job to do. No matter how dirty and unclean you felt, you had a job to do. You would not let Master Luke down. Especially now, that you had so much more to prove.

With more effort than you could possibly bear, you push yourself from the earth. Your eyes fall to the ground, and your shoulders hang in shame.

This goes on for only a minute more, before you straighten your back, and start back toward your camp. 

_

  
  


“Breathe, Grogu. With your stomach. Fill it with air. Relax your mind. Breathe…”

The tiny green baby looks at you with his adorably fascinating eyes as you speak to him, a semblance of understanding passing over them. His tiny face scrunches in concentration as he turns back toward the space in front of him. Tiny fingers rest on tiny knees and a tiny breath disturbs the air. His eyes close, and you reach out tentatively, to see if he is doing as he’s told.

His Force signature is calmer than it was only a moment ago. But still, you feel the tension and anxiety in the back of his mind, preventing him from going into the state of deep meditation you are trying to coax him into. 

This morning had been entirely focused on that. You arranged a small area for him to sit, situating yourself right across from him so that he had something upon which to ground himself. It was hour two of your first day of training, and already it was becoming extremely apparent to you just how much work the kid needed. Although his exterior mind was innocent and curious, upon deeper inspection you found levels of trauma so deep and ingrained that it took your breath away. There was an element of darkness, a fierce need to protect, and an urge to avenge that concerned you. More than you are willing to admit. 

He is scared. He misses the Mandalorian. His father, Grogu likes to think of him as. And he is unwilling to disclose what haunts him.

He is small, but he is mighty. And the last thing you will do is underestimate the little green womprat.

And so, you breathe with him. You allow him to take his time. And as you breathe, you feel the tiny tendrils of his Force signature wrap around your own, holding you so as to bring comfort to him, and to you. He is focusing so hard, you feel his energy draining. But still, you slip into the meditation with him. Deeper… Deeper…

Tiny snores draw you out of your state. The child is slumped on the ground, cheek resting firmly against your calf. 

A chuckle escapes your lips, and you slowly ease him back so that he lays comfortably on his pile of blankets.

This was going to be a long process.

You had spent the last several weeks on this planet alone, watching the remaining Republic holocrons Luke had managed to salvage for you. A training plan had been formed, and you had been so sure that it would endure. But Grogu was not what you were expecting. He was tiny and young and oh so unaware of his own significance. And he came with a price. A price you hadn’t been expecting. 

You swallow that down, and grab your saber from your hip.

Whenever your mind would wander during your years at Luke’s temple on Lothal, you would train. The physicality of lightsaber drills appeased your mind’s insatiable will to _keep thinking._ Master Luke would often watch without you knowing, smiling to himself as you went over the forms he had taught you that day. You reminded him a lot of himself, even though he was loathe to admit that. But he too had once lived a life of distraction. And you loved distraction.

A huff.

_I miss you, Master_.

Your Form III drills are hard to endure in the harsh heat of Felucia. The baby had stumbled off at some time, an intense need to explore coming off of him in waves. You allowed him to, as you are able to keep an eye on him through your newly established bond in the Force. So, thankfully, it did nothing to keep you from training.

Sweat falls from your limbs in streams as the heat of your saber mingles with the damp and heavy heat of the air. Your form is excellent, and your limbs stretched and retracted in just the way you knew they would. _Soresu_ is an easy form for you, one that had come naturally since the first day you began staff drills. It was defensive, necessary, exciting.

And distracting.

So distracting, that you hardly notice something about your surroundings has changed, until the sound of someone clearing their throat echoes from behind you.

Your saber comes to cover your face as you whip around, crouching low into a defensive stance. The only thing you can think about is the kid. Why had you let him walk away?

But your eyes are met with silver beskar, gleaming with the reflection of the harsh sun rays that managed to beat through the trees, and a gloved hand raised to you in an offering of peace.

His presence overwhelms you. You can’t breathe.

“Mando?”

You don’t even recognize your own voice as you speak. His reaction to you is so intense, that the Force nearly knocks you out of your senses. He is confused, relieved, and something else you can’t quite put a name to. His face is as immovable as ever, and you wish desperately that you could see his eyes. Maybe that would help you to know what he was thinking.

Without the eyes, you just receive dim flashes. Whatever he allows out. It is infuriating.

“I thought you left,” you say, your voice tasting strongly of bitterness as your lightsaber turns off.

“What?” His confusion is unmistakable. As if to say, whyever you’re upset, it’s your own problem.

You tuck the hilt of your saber into your belt, wiping the sweat from your brow. His t-visor bores down on you, and you find yourself wondering idly what color his eyes are.

“This morning when I woke up you were gone. I thought…” 

You say nothing further, and neither does he, apparently picking up on the embarrassed and shameful front you were putting on. Your fingers tug your tan tunic tighter around your frame, and you turned away from him to go find the kid, wherever he had wandered off to.

An unfortunately large part of you was glad that he was there. That he hadn’t actually left. But a small, and much louder part of you was afraid. How was what happened last night going to be acknowledged? Would it ever be acknowledged?

The inferiority of your position compared to him stings your cheeks. That was your first experience. Ever. What if you did something wrong?

With a shake of your hair, you rely on the Force to push those thoughts away, and begin to walk toward the very obvious path the child had left.

You want to slam your head into the trees you walk by as you approach Grogu, nestled in a pile of luminoshrooms, gnawing on the head of some large insect he had caught. But the sight of the little bug makes your heart squeeze. He was so kriffing cute it was almost painful. And for a moment it was enough to distract you from the fact that you would have to communicate with the Mandalorian when you got back.

You take the little creature in your arms, forcing him to drop the hideous insect on the ground, and begin walking back.

“Your dad’s here,” you say softly. The child looks up at you, gurgling a string of nonsensical noises into the air.

“Guess you know him better than I do.”

When you enter the clearing where your campsite had been set up, you set Grogu down on the ground, and watch with a half smile as he waddled toward the Mandalorian, who was in the middle of dropping a large box on the ground amidst a pile of several others. You can’t see Mando’s face, but you know it’s lighting up at the sight of the little child. He picks him up in one swift motion, and begins speaking to him in a language you can’t understand. It feels private. Too private for you to be watching, so you turn away and adjust your already perfectly set and organized sleeping sights.

“I just wanted to get some supplies off-planet,” a slow, deep, modulated voice murmurs from behind you. “Just in case. I didn’t come with anything, and you looked as ill-prepared as me.”

You turn to face him, eyebrows raised.

“That’s a bit presumptuous of you, Mando.”

“Well, do you have anything?”

You want to bite back and say yes. But the truth is that you had come here with next to nothing. Being a Jedi meant being extremely reliant on the things you could create between yourself and the ground you stood on. It hadn’t even crossed your mind to bring supplies. As far as you were concerned, your lightsaber was enough. 

Mandalorians were different, apparently.

“We are taught from a young age to not need anything besides the Force. It has gotten me through just fine.”

He scoffs from behind his helmet, and pulls out what looks like a folded up tent.

“What do you do when it rains?”

“I sleep in the rain.”

He shakes his head, and sets the folded up tent down next to the kid. Without carrying on what you are sure would be a riveting argument, he pulls what looks like bacta patches, a carterizer, and a syringe filled with some kind of liquid you have never seen. Was he expecting a lot of violence here? Enough to constitute the use of the entire hospital he had brought from off-planet?

“I hope you know we’re the only humanoids on this planet,” you say. “Felucia is one of the most non-violent territories in the galaxy.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t become one.”

You don’t argue because you know it’s not going to go anywhere. It is obvious to you that he comes from a very different world from you. Offensive, preparatory. Your entire education was founded upon the idea of defensive measures only. You relied on nothing but the Force. And he relied on nothing but himself, and how well he could prepare for what was to come.

Memories of the visions Grogu had shared with you come to mind, of all the times the two of them had nearly died in the last year. It makes sense now, why he would be anticipating that something was coming to kill him.

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” you finally decide to say, sitting down beside Grogu and the unmade tent, eyes trained on the hunched over Mando as he neatly organized his supplies on the ground. “It is very hard to kill a Force-sensitive. It’s hard to be killed when you have one with you.”

“I had him,” he gestures toward Grogu. “And we almost died. A lot.”

“But I’m trained,” you add, your fingers grazing over your lightsaber. “It’s different.”

He sets down the reflective pack of blankets he had been holding, and bears down on you with his t-visor. Your head swims, and your gut twists in trepidation. Waves of annoyance and misunderstanding radiate from him, and you regret even talking to him at all. Maybe it would be better to just _shut up_ when he was around.

“What do you know about what it’s like out there?” he says, his voice aggressive and low. “You might be a Jedi, whatever the fuck that means, but you don’t know _anything_ about what that kid has been through. What I’ve put him through. I’m not taking any chances anymore. And I don’t rely on anyone to protect me. I’ve made it this far. I can take care of myself.”

Your eyes burn. Obviously, you had touched a nerve.

You are overcome by an overwhelming desire to hide, but instead, you swallow thickly, and begin to unwrap your tunic.

“ _Jetii_ , what are you doing?”

You don’t look at him, you just keep unwrapping. Layer after layer of your shirt, until only the bando that ties around your breasts is there.

It’s dead silent. You can’t even hear him breathe.

Covering your skin, every inch from the underside of your wrists to the lowest part of your belly, up your arms and inching toward your throat, are trunks and tendrils of scars. Lightning-like and harsh, a dark, violent shade of purple and blue all about your skin. It looked like lightning had touched you, burned you, violated every inch of virgin skin on your upper body.

He stares at you. You feel like you can see his eyes traveling over every inch of your skin. The skin he had touched last night, and hadn’t known what he had actually been touching. 

Tears swim in your vision as your jaw clenches harshly.

“I was ten when Master Luke found me. He had gone back to save his father from the Emperor, his father is Darth Vader, by the way. Not that that’s important, I just think it’s funny.”

Your rambling means nothing to him, you can tell. He is still staring at your lightning covered flesh.

“I was taken hostage at the age of five from my family on Alderaan, before it was desecrated by the Empire. I was the only Force-sensitive on the planet, or at least, they thought I was. My signature was strong enough to drown out Luke’s sister, who was there with me at the same time. And I guess the Emperor hoped I could be useful when I grew older, so they attempted to train me in the ways of the Dark Side.”

Your eyes hood over, a storm brewing in your irises as you recall your past that you have fought so hard to stamp out.

“But I didn't… conform, like they would have liked me to. I guess, in their minds, there was only one way to make me behave.”

Your eyes drift down to the scars.

“It’s Force Lightning. An ancient Sith technique. The scars last forever. No matter how hard Master Luke tried, he couldn’t heal them.”

His gloved hands curl into fists at his sides, and the baby gurgles in worry from his place on the ground. Grogu can feel the pain of the memories rippling through you, and he offers what comfort he can, without exhausting his little tiny body too much.

You smile a bit at him, and turn your eyes up back to the Mandalorian.

“See? I know pain, Mando. But the Force saved me. It always does. That’s why I’m not worried.”

You want so badly to fill the silence with more words, but your usually chatty thoughts are silent. He’s just staring at you. It’s overbearing and it almost _hurts_. You wonder what it would be like to have him look at you without his helmet. Surely, you would die. 

Just when the discomfort begins to surmount, you carefully collect your tunic and wrappings from the ground, and move to put them back over your upper body. But before you have the chance, a hand interrupts you.

His gloved fingers grab your tunic from your fingers, and gingerly set them down atop a box at his feet. Your impulse is to protest, but you are stopped short by the visual of his gloves removing each other from his hands, exposing perfectly tanned olive skin, and neatly trimmed fingernails. Something about seeing his skin makes your head swim. As if this action in and of itself was a very meaningful submission to her, as if it meant more to him than she could possibly understand. 

His gloves fall, discarded on the jungle floor.

Slowly, carefully, his fingers reach out toward your belly. He traces the lines of the Force Lightning scars along the ridges of your abdomen, all the way up to your sternum. His touch leaves trails of fire behind, and you swear that you can feel the remnants of the electrical current in your body sparking and alighting at his touch. 

It _hurts._ It hurts in only the way his touch can hurt you.

And yet, when he withdraws his fingers, you want to reach out and put them back.

“I’m sorry, _jetii_ ,” he says softly. “I didn’t know this was what I was touching last night. I would have been more careful.”

A heavy blush rises to your cheeks. There it was. He picked this moment to address what had happened last night.

You replay his words over in your mind, trying to find any hint of regret, malice, or disgust. But he definitely doesn’t sound like any of those things. In fact, he doesn’t really sound like anything at all. He just sounds soft. Careful. 

“They don’t hurt much anymore,” you say, taking this chance to cover yourself up from his penetrating gaze. “You didn’t hurt me. It’s okay.”

You tie off the last of your tunic, and turn away. He hadn’t said anything. The conversation was over. And truthfully, you are disappointed. You just want to hear what he has to say. To know how you should go on from here. This was all so new to you. Everything. You had spent the last ten years of your life under someone else’s guidance. Master Luke always knew what to do. And now, you were alone. Alone with a Mandalorian who you had almost had sex with, and a tiny green baby whose Force powers were stronger than your own. What the kriff had your life become. Maker, how could you go on.

Before you can walk back toward the camp, you hear your name float through his modulator.

It stalls your brain. You turn to face him.

“Yeah?”

But he says nothing. He looks like he wants to. He feels like he’s trying to. But nothing comes out. 

And so, you turn back, and walk toward your camp.

-

You had run drills for the remainder of the day, letting the kid spend the time with his dad. The encounter between you and Mando went unaddressed in your mind. Instead, you did what you did best. Found distraction. Form I, II, and III. Rudimentary drills you had done a thousand times. Not too physical, but just enough to make your muscles burn, the lactic acid draining away the conflict in your mind. 

His presence is irritating. Not even the swell of the Force as you train can keep out his annoyingly loud emotions and thoughts. He sits right at the edges of your mind. Always there. 

Stars, you had known him for two days. What the hell was wrong with you.

As night slowly fell, and the luminescence of the forest awoke, you found yourself growing more and more agitated. Cooking was an anxious task. Making the fire was an anxious task.

And now, you sit with your back turned to the Mandalorian and the baby as he eats. You hadn’t even asked, it was more an action of respect. Even if you were frustrated, you wouldn’t disrespect his Creed. And he needed food.

The taste of manta coats your tongue, but you barely eat. Your stomach twists and turns, and the Force doesn’t seem to be helping you at all. If anything the combination of intense feelings from all three of you is so overwhelming that your senses can’t cope. And without the Force to ground you, you feel incredibly sick. Like you’re on a boat in the seas of Kamino. 

You swallow, and it almost comes back up.

“You don’t mind that I’m staying here, right?”

His voice shocks your system enough to make you forget your unfortunate stomach ache.

“Of course you can stay. He’s your son. Master Luke doesn’t believe in removing children from their family.”

There’s a pause after your words, and you wonder what the scene behind you looks like. His voice is clear of the modulator, so you know his helmet is off. He sounds relaxed. But he doesn’t feel relaxed. Not at all.

Neither do you.

“But what do you believe?”

You take a second to contemplate where his words are coming from. Why he was even asking what you thought. He made it very clear from the first second you met him that he intended to stay with the kid whether you liked it or not. So why now was he asking your permission?

“I believe what Master Luke believes,” you murmur, a slight shake to your voice. “You are welcome to stay with us.”

“But do you want me to stay?”

You don’t know how you’re supposed to answer that.

Because you do want him to stay. You want to know him. You want him to know you and you want to be held by him and see his face and know his name and understand him because no one else has ever been allowed to understand him. And the way he made you feel when he touched you, like you were important, like you _belonged_. You wanted that. So badly.

But you had known him for two days. You know you were of very little significance to him. And admitting that was a wound you weren’t willing to carve into your heart.

You open your mouth, and close it. Dumbly. And your hesitation causes a flicker of agitation to ripple off of him. 

“I… I’m sorry for last night, _jetii_. I didn’t know that you didn’t want it-”

“I did,” you say, cutting his apology off before it would start to make you cry. “I did want it. I thought… I just thought I did something wrong. Or… I don’t know. It’s not easy for me to come to terms with… that. It means a lot that I broke my oath. And I don’t know what you want, but I know it couldn’t possibly mean to you what it meant to me and-”

“Din.”

You freeze. 

“What?”

“Din Djarin. That’s my name. Now I broke a part of my oath too. You’re not alone.”

You wipe your fingers over your eyes, the gravity of the reveal weighing heavily on your heart.

His name was Din.

A small laugh leaves your lips, and you shake your head to regain your bearings. A moment ago, you had been so worked up that you felt like you could die. So embarrassed. So shameful. And so sure that someone like him couldn’t possibly find something like you interesting enough to care about in even the slightest way. 

But you know what the weight of what he just did is. You know how important it is for a Mandalorian to keep their name a secret, to share it only with members of their clan, or people whom they expressly trust. Maybe not even them. 

You hear the hiss of his helmet reattaching to the sensors at his neck, and the sound of his boots track over the damp jungle. It takes mere moments for him to reach the front of your field of vision.

His gloved finger reaches out to rest under your chin, drawing it up so your face is completely exposed to him. 

You feel like you can’t breathe.

“And I’ll be sleeping with you again tonight. After the kid goes to sleep, I expect to hear you say my name. If I’m going to give you that information, I expect you to use it.”

  
  



	3. A Crush

**You fall into what can only be described as an… uncomfortable routine.**

During the day, you train with Grogu. The little bug is strong, and already knew much more than he was letting on when you first met him, But he still tires out so quickly. So the day usually starts with an hour of meditation, an hour of Force work, and then he is too tired to continue. Which leaves you and Mando, with nothing and everything to discuss.

  
So, you spend the rest of the time getting stronger. You run. You train. You practice forms and drills and stretch the boundaries of your mind so much that you feel like your brain might just rip in half. You haven’t received any transmissions from Master Luke, which does worry you a bit, but it also puts your mind at ease. Even though it’s difficult, you must be doing something right.

Where the kid is concerned, at least.

With Mando… You have no idea.

Everynight, he comes to your bed. Makes you come over and over until you literally feel like there is no substance left in your body at all. But every time you try to touch him, to return the favor, he won’t let you. He won’t have sex with you, he’ll just make you orgasm so many times in one night that you can no longer feel your thighs. And then, in the morning, it’s like it never happened.

You don’t know what to _do._ A part of you is screaming at yourself, shaking your own brain and going on and on about how severely stupid you are being. This isn’t good for you. Every night that you feel his skin, that he feels you, in the way you thought no one ever would, you start to grow attached. More and more. And then, the morning comes, and that attachment gets severed ever so slightly when he goes about his day as if you aren’t even there. It’s like you’re being pulled in a thousand different directions, and it _hurts_. But it feels so fucking good.

Stars, you are falling apart. 

You trained hard today. So hard that blood ran down the side of your face and hands. Your lightsaber had driven welts into the sides of your fingers, and you had accidentally burned the side of your calf with it. Your muscles burn, your head aches. You had been so _sloppy_. Usually, you were much more poised, graceful, a good reflection of your Master’s careful work in training you. But today… Today is not a good day.

One final swing with your lightsaber in a particularly difficult round of Form II drills has you falling on the ground with a resounding thud, branches from a tree you had just desecrated with your saber falling toward your face at lightning speed. Your eyes widen in horror, and you quickly shoot out your hand above your face, pulling at the ever binding Force and using it to hover the branches above you, before throwing them into the abyss of the jungle.

For a moment, you stare up into the treeline above you. Eyes wide, chest heaving, heart pounding. 

And then, you cry.

Tears break your tightly woven mask, and crash through your core. Every feeling you can possibly feel is pouring from your soul, a violent outward expression of everything you had been keeping pent up inside. The Force held you, trying so desperately to console you as your tears of frustration leaked angrily from your eyes. If Master Luke hadn’t reached out yet, he certainly would now. No doubt you had projected a feeling strong enough to cover a millenia, and he was always looking out for you.

A part of you didn’t even know what the problem was. You just wanted to cry. Because you felt weak. And like you could no longer even call yourself a Jedi.

All because of some random Mandalorian who showed up on your planet a few weeks ago. 

“Fuck,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose between your fingertips. 

“Are you okay?”

The voice stamps the space right between your eyes. You shoot up, and turn in a frenzy to look at the completely armored Mandalorian. Din. You still hadn’t gotten used to calling him that. It was really only a word you said when night had fallen, and you were falling to pieces in his arms. In the real world, it felt strange. 

The back of your hand wipes aggressively at your eyes, ridding your skin of the salty tears that still burn, before you stand in one fluid motion.

“I’m fine,” you stammer, your face contorting in discomfort as a deep pain in your calf flares. It must have been your lightsaber. You are so damn careless. 

“Nothing about this looks fine,” Mando says, waving his hand up and down. “Why are you crying? Wh-What the hell happened to your leg?”

“Go away,” you say, stumbling past his imposing frame. Your calf screams every time you take a step. You hadn’t remembered it hurting so badly when you first did it. But that had been hours ago. Maybe the shock had worn off. You have no idea where your mind was anyways. It was all becoming an infuriating blur.

A hand grabs you by the wrist before you can limp any further. 

“What’s going on, _jetii_?” He asks. Even though you can’t see his eyes, you know he is staring right into your soul. Your eyes had always given away everything. 

You want to yell, or do _something._ But all you can do is stare at him. It’s like when you're around him you forget everything about yourself, everything that constitutes you and who you are. Your brain just melts. And every intelligent thought and emotion you have, carefully crafted in your intricate mind, means absolutely nothing. The feel of even his gloved hand on your arm is enough to light sparks in your veins. 

You have no idea what this is. Truthfully, it scares the hell out of you. The feeling is uncomfortable and beautiful and like a million nebulas converging into one gigantic chasm that is consuming every bit of the galaxy that you are. And the Force delights in your misery. 

Now, you’re panicking. He’s staring at you. And you’re panicking. 

And so, you rip your arm away, and continue to stalk off toward the camp. Mind reeling. Heart on fire. Wishing you could just turn around and kiss him in broad daylight. Or maybe, punch him squarely in the jaw.

_______

  
  


“Hello, Master,” you say softly, nodding your head by way of respect. You sit underneath your x-wing, far away enough that neither the child nor the Mandalorian could hear you. It had been no surprise to you that shortly after your little outburst you had received a request to communicate with Luke. He must have felt your emotions all the way on Lothal. How embarrassing. 

“How are you doing?” He asks, his golden hair nearly covering his eyes now. His tone is gentler and sweet, as it always was. And a small part of you can’t help but laugh inside. He needs a haircut. How would he fix that without you there to cut it there for him?

“I’m fine,” you lie, forcing a smile and clasping your hands behind your back. He looks at you with that look, that damn Skywalker look. The one that says “ _you can’t hide anything from me because I know you better than you know yourself._ ”

“Okay, maybe not so fine. I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

At that, he laughs. A real laugh. A classic Luke laugh. It makes you angry, really angry. For some reason something about hearing him laughing at you is grinding the gears of your mind in just the right way, so that they are ready to combust at the push of a button. He seems to sense this, and raises his hands as a peace-offering.   
  
“Forgive me, young one. I don’t mean to laugh. You are just so _loud_. I know exactly why you say that, and I’m here to tell you that every word of what you just said, is completely wrong.”

You fold your arms across your chest, and scowl at your Master. “That’s not very nice, Luke,” you say, but you can’t help but smile as he offers you a comforting look, his blue eyes twinkling across the holocron. 

“You were the first child I picked up. And from the moment I took you under my wing I knew you were destined for great things. You are meant to train this child, I have conferred with every resource available to me.”

You nod, looking down at your fingers.

“But that’s not what’s bothering you, is it?”

Your cheeks flare a deep shade of cherry, and you steal a glance to your left. About a hundred feet away, Mando and Grogu are sitting next to each other. The baby looks like he’s babbling nonsense, which he most likely is, and Mando is nodding and encouraging him like he understands every word. 

Your heart clenches. 

“No.”

Luke chuckles softly, and folds his arms. “You need to relax. You aren’t breaking any rules, I promise. If the Order was here to talk to you now, I’m sure you’d find that their ideas about attachments have changed.”

Mando puts his hand on Grogu’s back, and rubs little circles on it. The child leans into him, and continues talking in a language only he understands. And something about that combination, of watching the interaction and listening to Luke’s words, just triggers you. Your eyes fill with a swell of tears. Warm tears.

“Is that what this is?”

Luke shakes his head at you. “Yes, my young Jedi. You have a crush. It’s fine, really. You’re still the best Jedi I know. And I know a few.”

A little laugh escapes your lips, and you blink through a stray tear. “But Master Luke, I’ve done things that I took an oath not to do. I can’t tell you how embarrassed it makes me but…”

He raises his hands, preventing you from saying anything else that would make your cheeks blush an even more violent shade of red than they were right now. “Relax. It’s okay. The Force will guide you. Have faith. Trust in the Force, with the pure light you possess, I doubt it would ever lead you astray.”

You look at the holocron of your Master. He is smiling at you. And it strikes you in that moment just how much you miss him. 

“Thank you, Master.”

He nods his head, and opens his arms. “Come visit me soon. Leia misses you.”

You let out a tinkling laugh, and watch fondly as the holocron fades. The air around you swirls with soft mist, tiny droplets of rain that didn’t have enough time to reach the jungle floor. You wrap your arms around your knees, and look back toward Mando. He’s looking at you. 

When he begins to walk toward you, you don’t protest or walk away from him. You just hug your knees closer, damp hair sticking to your cheeks and forehead.

Master Luke had said to trust in the Force. That somehow, it would tell you what you were supposed to do. It was just so difficult, at times. You had been taken from your homeworld of Alderann at such a young age, you only had vague memories of your father. And when you were a hostage of the empire, you didn’t form a relationship with anyone. You were secluded, often alone. The only person you spent a large amount of time with had been Luke’s father. And although he was not as cruel to you as the Emperor was, it was nothing of substance. It wasn’t until you found Master Luke, that you truly began to understand what it meant to be loved.

But these feelings. The ones you were feeling for Din - had been feeling since the first moment you two spoke, you didn’t know what to do with. You had never experienced them in your whole life. It was all so new, you didn’t know if you were moving too fast or too slow. Doing too much or too little.

It was impossible to navigate. You needed help. You just didn’t know if he was willing.

As he comes to stand in front of you, you look up at him from your place in the dirt. For a moment, you tune in to the Force. You ask it; _what do I do?_

It whispers back; _tell him._

“I’m sorry about earlier,” you begin, motioning for him to sit down beside you. “That wasn’t nice.”

He laughs. A real, soft, genuine laugh. It shakes his large frame, and makes your insides feel like honey. You hadn’t really heard him laugh before. Not like this.

“It’s okay, _jetii_.”

You look at your fingers, suddenly taking a great interest in them. It takes a lot to work up the courage to do this. You are so scared. What would happen if he rejected you? How would that shame feel?

Your cheeks burn so hard that it hurts. And he seems to notice. A gloved finger grabs your chin, and turns your face toward him. He seemed to like doing this. And you like it too, so much more than you are willing to admit.

“If you don’t speak, I will never know how you’re feeling.”

You swallow, your chin still in his grasp.

This was it.

“I’m just… Confused,” you finally settle on, your knees pressing against your chest defensively. “Being a Jedi comes naturally to me. But this-” you gesture between the two of you, “I have no idea what it is. And it’s so confusing because at night we know each other, and then during the day, it’s like we’re strangers.” You hate the way your voice sounds so fragile and shaky. It betrays the confidence you are trying so desperately hard to feign. “And I want more than that. I want to _know_ you. I don’t know why, but I do. And I want you to know me too. No one ever really has.”

You are so embarrassed that you feel like you might die. And it’s so much worse because you can’t see behind that damn visor. For all you know, he’s not even paying attention. But then, he’s pulling his glove off. And his naked hand comes back to your cheek, painting trails of fire with his thumb from the side of your lip to your eye. 

“I’m sorry I made you feel this way,” he says honestly.

A tear slips from your eye, and he wipes it away with his thumb.

“I’m not used to this either. I do have more experience than you, but not with being close to someone. Every other person I’ve been with, they were always gone in the morning. My lifestyle prevented anything further. I guess I’m still used to that.”

You nod, your fingers wiping at the tears in your eyes.

So you were right. He didn’t want anything more than what happened in the night.

  
It hurt. It hurt so bad. And you can barely contain the sob that bubbles from your throat. 

“O-okay,” you say, softly backing away from him. “Then I’ll have to get Master Luke to come get the child. I can’t train him anymore.”

He grabs your arms with both of his hands, and your heart leaps to your throat. 

“No, _jetii,_ you misunderstand,” he says, entreating you to sit and stare at him, captivated by every word. “I want to know you. More than I’ve wanted to know anyone in my entire life.”

Your mouth falls open. 

So many emotions are bubbling inside of you. Like some chemical concoction on the verge of turning explosive. Your heart isn’t even in your body anymore, truthfully. You just feel… You feel stunned. That was the last thing you thought he would say. And he said it. 

He fucking said it. 

“You do?” You whisper.

He nods, his hands coming up to cup the back of your neck, and nestle themselves in your hair. “Yes. In my culture, it’s not the easiest thing to do. But I want to.” You can feel the warmth of his coppery skin against your neck, and you close your eyes. In this moment, the Force slows. It curls up deep inside of you, and sleeps dreamily. As if acknowledging that its job was done, and now, it could rest.

And it felt so good. So damn good to have that clarity. The Force had been wreaking havoc on your insides for the last several days. And now that you two had come to some kind of understanding, it could rest.

You wrap your fingers around his hands, and nod.

“And we’ll go slow. I know you’ve never had sex. I’m not going to force you into anything too soon, ever,” he says, his voice commanding your attention. “I just… Your fucking _body_ . You kill me just by walking around, _breathing._ Doing all your… Jedi stuff. And you’re so good with the kid. He really likes you. You’re just…”

He runs his thumb underneath your eye.

  
“You’re so good. I’m afraid I’m gonna ruin you. Somehow.”

You laugh in spite of such a ridiculous comment. His life might have been tumultuous before he met you. But Luke always said that a person’s actions were redeemed by other action’s. And the things he had done, the things Grogu had shared with you in moments of meditation. Saving the kid, sparing a life, just so many things. He was a good person. At least, Grogu thought so. And you trusted the little bean. More than you probably should have.

“You’re not dirty, Din,” you say softly. “You’re not ruining me. You’re helping me become a whole person. There’s so much more I want to be than just a Jedi.”

He looks at you through his helmet for a moment more, before you hear him tearing the fabric at the bottom of his cape. Before you have the chance to ask him what he’s doing, he’s tying the fabric around your eyes. 

“Din, the kid?”

He picks you up before you can say anything else, and carries you a few feet before setting you down on the damp earth behind your X-Wing. “Don’t worry, little one, he can’t see us here.”

The sound of his helmet disconnecting from the sensors on his neck sends shivers down the length of your spine. The feeling is so disorienting that you can barely handle it when you feel his lips biting the bottom of your chin. A gasp bubbles from you, and the sounds of his laughter against your throat reverberates through your entire body.

“My little Jedi, you can be whatever you want to be.”

He said something else after, but you can’t remember what it was. You don’t become aware of anything until many hours later.

Stars, what was happening to your life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this wasn't proofread :((((


End file.
